


famous angels (never come through england)

by isaksara (syailendra)



Series: Atsumu + Sakusa + The National = ? [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 'artistic' liberties taken with Edo-era Japan, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Actors, Getting Together, M/M, ROMCOM TROPES HOUR, background osasuna - Freeform, past AtsuHina - Freeform, past AtsuKita - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syailendra/pseuds/isaksara
Summary: “What the fuck.” Atsumu waves his phone in Osamu’s face. “What the fuck!Yasufumi Nekomatawrote a review of Los Angeles Cathedral and he spenttwo paragraphstalkin’ ‘bout Kiyoomi!”SakuAtsu Week Day 2:Put an ocean and a river between everybody else, between everything, yourself, and home.(England)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Atsumu + Sakusa + The National = ? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691503
Comments: 70
Kudos: 844
Collections: SakuAtsu Week 2020





	famous angels (never come through england)

**Author's Note:**

> In many ways this is the most self-indulgent thing I've done in a while ahahaha
> 
> Title(s) and prompt are from [England](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9Zm07aaXsE) by The National! The fic was made to go with the song, so have a listen if you like

_Put an ocean and a river between everybody else, between everything, yourself, and home._

* * *

**Shouyou Hinata and Atsumu Miya speak up on calling it quits: ‘It was totally mutual’**

By Suguru Daishou

The Broadway-star-turned-Hollywood-darling posted this on his instagram today.

_[A picture of Shouyou and Atsumu, smiling together on the beach.]_

**shouyouhinata21** I know some of you are worried about me and Atsumu. We talked about it, and we’re both completely satisfied with how things ended. It was totally mutual. We’re friends! Well, we’ve always been friends, even before we started dating. We still hang out and play beach ball. Atsumu is really important to me and I will always want him to be happy.

A few minutes later, this appeared on his ex-paramour’s feed.

_[The same picture of Shouyou and Atsumu, smiling together on the beach.]_

**miya_tsumu** shouyou and me? we’re friends, and we’ll always be friends. you can count on that. neither of us have any regrets about the time we spent together, or about how it ended, and he’ll always be my favorite beach buddy.

Hinata and Miya were the Hollywood It Couple for five months, during which the internet _ooh’_ ed and _aah_ ’ed at pictures of them playing with puppies in shelters and dressing up as characters from classic Disney movies. One wonders what exactly happened between these two. The internet is already losing its mind.

**@babyatsumu** omg shouyou and atsumu broke up, love isn’t real

 **@tobioskneesocks** you can pry the pictures of atsumu and shouyou eating ice cream together and atsumu getting mint choc chip all over his stupid face out of my cold dead hands

 **@osamuf0rever** All I’m seeing on my TL today is confirmation that Atsumu is single again. Bless. Time to strut down West Hollywood in daisy dukes and a mesh top.

 **@shinsukeee_** I have a running wager with a friend who’s always weirdly optimistic about Atsumu Miya’s love life. The minimum amount of time he has to date someone for her to win is six months. $$$$ come to momma (again)

That’s right. Six months _is_ weirdly optimistic, for Miya. We all remember the ill-fated dalliance with Shinsuke Kita. Then there was Nobuyuki Kai, followed by Daichi Sawamura. If I tried to list all of Miya’s exes and suspected exes, this article would resemble a bibliography. Yet every name on that list has remained on good terms with Miya. So what gives? Is Atsumu Miya the perfect ex? Or does he just pick people who tend to fall way too far on the forgiving side?

* * *

Atsumu spends three days crying over Shouyou Hinata like he’s in a teen movie montage. In the shower, he sniffles. On his pillow, he bawls until Osamu thumps his fist on his door and tells him to go drink some Nyquil so Osamu can get some sleep too. He covers up the pictures of Shouyou around their house like he’s trying to ward off an evil spirit.

Then, on the fourth day, he’s fine.

A week later he’s wondering just what it was he was crying about, when he’d been so afraid of Shouyou falling out of love with him because Atsumu _is_ Atsumu, that he’d been such a tame, watered-down version around him he’d barely been Atsumu at all. He’d held his tongue whenever he was going to say something mean. He’d made jokes appropriate for all audiences. He’d accidentally watched a shitty movie with Shouyou the weekend it came out, and he hadn’t even said a single snide thing about it. 

Atsumu had thought that this meant Shouyou had been making him a better person, but the truth of the matter is—not that Shouyou had ever _asked_ anything like that of him, or indicated that he would like Atsumu _less_ if he let loose with his tongue more often—it had been exhausting, second-guessing himself every moment of every day.

“There’s no harm in that,” Rintarou says when Atsumu confesses this to him. “It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with the other guy or anything’s wrong with you—although in your case, everything’s wrong with you, Atsumu. You’ve just gotta be with someone who makes you feel comfortable enough in your own skin, just by being them. Someone you just vibe with. Like me and Osamu.”

Atsumu may be over Shouyou Hinata, but it doesn’t mean he needs Rintarou to shove just how happy he is with Osamu in Atsumu’s face right now. He says so.

Rintarou snickers. “Listen, I’m not trying to shove anything in your face. I mean, I used to feel that way too, because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of an asshole?” Atsumu has noticed. He notices every time they talk. “So sometimes you just gotta hold out a little bit until you find someone who’s your exact brand of asshole.”

The next day, he gets a call telling him Komori has finally casted the other lead part in the movie he’s doing with Atsumu. Atsumu will be starring in Los Angeles Cathedral with Kiyoomi Sakusa.

Kiyoomi Sakusa has met Atsumu a few times—this goes without saying, as the movie industry is a pretty small world. The longest time they’d spent with each other had been at a Vanity Fair Oscars party, right after Atsumu had broken up with Shinsuke. 

He’d spent that night making a concerted effort to stick his tongue down absolutely everybody’s throat, proclaiming that he wanted to fall in love with as many people as possible, just to see if anything sticks. He’d tried it with Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi had pulled away with the instincts of a ninja, then splashed his bourbon not on Atsumu’s face, but on the suede lapels of Atsumu’s Valentino jacket, which had been a) off-white, and b) due to be returned the next morning.

So, really. Fuck that guy.

* * *

**‘Los Angeles Cathedral’ Review: Can Kiyoomi Sakusa Be Funny? The Answer May (Not) Surprise You**

_It’s a resounding yes._

By Yasufumi Nekomata (The New York Times)

I know who Kiyoomi Sakusa is. You know who Kiyoomi Sakusa is. He’s the youngest actor to ever win a BAFTA for Best Actor in a Leading Role. He made you sympathize with a serial killer who strangled his own brother. You watched him try to save his country as the tortured son of a corrupt politician. He was the most memorable king of France on the silver screen within the last decade, despite being Japanese. Every moviegoer on the planet has generally accepted the idea that having Kiyoomi Sakusa in your film is no laughing matter. 

That is, until now. Maybe it’s because he’s given the chance to bounce off comedy veteran Atsumu Miya, who is as hilarious in this as he is in every other film he’s in. (Which is _very._ Don’t drink anything when he’s on-screen, for the sake of your own nostrils.) Maybe it’s because director Motoya Komori, who graduated from the NFTS with Sakusa, has known him long enough to draw out the humorous potential of a man you expect to sob for. Whatever it is, you can be sure of one thing—every minute of Sakusa’s screen time will have you in stitches.

Komori’s slick comedy has all the teeth-clenched tension of a drama focused on the rivalry between two legendary generals and the irreverent, bouncing-off-the-walls energy of a buddy cop movie. It’s got a story that will keep you on the edge of your seat. It’s clever. I couldn’t stop thinking about its cinematography and soundtrack. It’s what all other action comedies could be if they tried really, really, really hard—much harder than they usually try. I wouldn’t hesitate to call it the best comedy of the year.

The moment both Sakusa and Miya’s characters realize they have to work together to save the world as we know it, you can tell it’s the worst thing that has ever happened to them both. Unfortunately for them, it is the best thing to ever happen to the audience.

Read more 

* * *

“What the fuck.” Atsumu waves his phone in Osamu’s face. “What the fuck! _Yasufumi Nekomata_ wrote a review of Los Angeles Cathedral and he spent _two paragraphs_ talkin’ ‘bout Kiyoomi!”

Osamu gives Atsumu the look that means he really wants to humor Atsumu right now, for his future peace of mind, but doesn’t have any of the energy required to do that. Atsumu is going to make Osamu humor him anyway. If Osamu has a problem with that, he can go rewrite his birth certificate.

“Was it a good review?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, fuming.

“‘Kay then, ‘Tsumu. Cut yer losses and move on. ‘M sure that there are some reviews out there that talk about you, if the two million of those that already exist aren’t enough for you yet.” Osamu yawns. “Go brush yer teeth. If ya fall asleep and drool on the carpet again with your coffee mouth, you’re gonna have to dry clean it yerself.”

“The only reason he was this good in that movie,” Atsumu continues, fully aware that he is only giving more ammunition for Osamu to use when he brainstorms new insults with Rintarou later on, “was because of _me_.”

Osamu takes Atsumu’s toothbrush from the bathroom, squeezes toothpaste on the bristles, and hands it to Atsumu, who immediately starts brushing his teeth. “The youngest guy to ever win the Lead Actor BAFTA? Sure.”

“I literally coached him through it. And obviously he needed it! Y’know, after that French king movie, people were all over him in the bad way, talkin’ ‘bout him being _one-dimensional_. I saw the tweets with the screencaps, comparin’ his face in different movies. And they were right, he looks exactly the same.” 

If this had been said in the same exact circumstances between two different people, this would sound like an unintelligible series of gurgling and grunting sounds. Atsumu, however, is a skilled enough actor that he can totally talk around a toothbrush. It doesn’t hurt that Osamu’s fluent in Atsumu’s toothbrush-talk, either. (It is mostly the latter. But Atsumu’s still pretty skilled.)

“Kiyoomi Sakusa’s facial features don’t magically morph into other people’s in different pictures,” Osamu drawls. “Shocker. You’d make a great critic, ‘Tsumu. Ya always make yer points so effectively.”

“Shaddup, you know exactly what I mean.”

Osamu goes to video call Rintarou, who’s off in Austria or something, shooting a superhero movie. An hour later, Atsumu’s phone blows up with texts about being worse at facial recognition than a broken neural network. He hates his brother a lot, but he hates his brother’s boyfriend infinitely more.

* * *

By the time they’d gone through their second readthrough of the first scene they’ll be shooting together, Atsumu was convinced that Komori had casted Kiyoomi based on nepotism alone. The first time Atsumu had read Issei Matsukawa’s script, he hadn’t stopped snickering for three whole days. Osamu had been _very_ annoyed, especially after Atsumu told him he couldn’t let Osamu read the script—you know, it’s gotta be a surprise! Now, after reading it together with Kiyoomi Sakusa, Atsumu actually thought he might cry all over his copy. Or challenge his co-star to a brawl in the closest boxing ring. The second thing should generate enough publicity that the movie’s box office might survive, at least.

“Omi-kun, yer gonna get that line right by tonight or I’m gonna drip cheeseburger grease all over yer fuckin’ socks,” Atsumu snarled, leaning his forehead on the wall of Kiyoomi’s trailer. It smelled like a fake pine forest. Like a taxi cab, first thing in the morning. Fuckin’ hell, this was a _trailer wall._ Kiyoomi Sakusa was a freak and Atsumu was going to call TMZ about it.

“Just my socks? You don’t want to go ahead and grease up my shirt and trousers too, for good measure?”

Atsumu turned around so quickly he gave himself whiplash.

“See! _Now_ ya choose to be fucking funny? Do that again, but with the actual line this time!”

Kiyoomi sighed from his place on the couch. He looked very tired. Atsumu, too, was very tired, but you didn’t catch him sighing at the guy who was making this so hard for both of them.

“Yes, Miya, would you like anything else? Maybe I should catch some peanuts in my mouth, if you’re so hell-bent on making me your little trick weasel.” Atsumu tried to imagine a weasel with Kiyoomi’s cheekbones. It was horrifying. It looked like it would pluck your eyes out while you were sleeping to serve them in a demonic weasel feast. Atsumu could probably pitch that to A24 after this entire Komori fiasco was over.

Atsumu put his chin on his hand. This was his thinking face, which he showed so Kiyoomi would not sling jabs his way as the pieces fell into place inside his head. In a rare moment of synergy between them, Kiyoomi did shut up for a bit. “Okay. Okay, look. I know you’re probably having thoughts about who your character is to my character and stuff, but if that’s stoppin’ you from bein’ funny, don’t deliver them to Nozumu. Deliver ‘em to _me._ Then once that starts workin’ out, ya can figure out what it’s like for Terumoto to talk to Nozumu.”

Of course, the stubborn asshole went, “This is not acting.”

“This is me tryin’ to make it work when you’re tryin’ to turn this funny movie into a goddamn political thriller, here! Would you just.” Atsumu huffed out a breath through his nose. “Look, I know you’re the best young actor in Hollywood right now or whatever. I don’t have a Lead Actor BAFTA. But you’re doin’ comedy here, Kiyoomi. You’re on my turf. _Listen to me,_ and we’re gonna be just fine." Kiyoomi continues to look blank. "Or if none of that means nothin’ to you, think about what I just told you for a second. Did you feel like there was somethin’ different just now?”

The thing was, Atsumu knew he was right. He _has_ worked with people less funny than Kiyoomi before to make really, really good movies. He got people to laugh at Tobio Kageyama, which was worth more than a BAFTA , if you asked him. Kiyoomi gave him a long, considering look from under his eyelashes. Atsumu was tempted to snoop in his bathroom to see if he could find mascara.

After a long, agonizing moment in which Atsumu considered everything from bursting into tears to homicide, Kiyoomi says, “Fine. I’ll try it your way.”

Atsumu grinned. Or grimaced. Whatever. Let Kiyoomi read what he wanted to into it.

* * *

Saturday Night with Tetsurou Kuroo is one of the few talk shows Atsumu actually wants to be in, whenever he’s invited as a guest. When he’s laughing with Tetsurou, even under studio lights, it’s completely real. Even Kiyoomi looks at ease. Usually his eyes are darting every which way in on-camera interviews and talk shows and Atsumu has to nudge him a little to get him to answer when he spaces out. This time he’s engaged, leaning a little bit towards Tetsurou’s desk, laughing at Tetsurou’s jokes a little.

“You didn’t really know each other before working on this, am I right?” They both nod. “So what’s the most remarkable thing you’ve learned about each other after making this movie together?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t wait a single second before answering.

“Despite his reputation as a comedic genius, Atsumu is the most unfunny person in the world in real life,” he says. “My parents’ friends used to come around often when I was younger. I’ve heard many so-called ‘dad jokes’ in my life, and yet they’re all funnier than the best joke Atsumu has ever told me. Don’t ask me to repeat it to you; the studio audience would just up and leave. If any producers are watching this, don’t accept Atsumu’s pitch if he ever sends you a comedy script.”

And _there’s_ the famous hyena laugh Tetsurou Kuroo is known for. Atsumu should be proud of Kiyoomi for this.

“I—hey, _what!_ Fine! Omi-omi wakes up at three a.m. to wipe the walls of his trailer with pine-scented disinfectant. I’m talkin’ bout _every wall._ How’s that for a fun fact?”

Tetsurou leers at them. “Right, right. That _is_ weird. Just _how_ did you come by this information, Atsumu?”

“By rehearsin’ with him all the time, that’s how,” Atsumu grumbles, shooting Kiyoomi a look. He doesn’t even blush at Tetsurou’s insinuation, which will probably tell Osamu a lot about his filming experience. “If you end up laughin’ when you watch the movie—which you will, it’s really funny, and ya know I know my stuff—it’s because I was up til’ the roosters started crowing almost every night in Omi-omi’s trailer, trying to _make_ him funny!”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “It’s true. I don’t think this film would have amounted to anything if it wasn’t for the amount of effort Atsumu put into working with me. Motoya really went out on a limb on this when he chose me for the part, but without all of Atsumu’s help it would’ve been for nothing.”

Barely believing his ears, Atsumu turns to watch Kiyoomi’s face so he knows the words are actually coming out of his mouth and Tetsurou’s not setting him up for a prank with some state-of-the-art hidden speaker or whatever. Kiyoomi’s not smirking. But he _is_ an actor, Atsumu remembers. BAFTA and everything.

“He lectured me about the art of timing. He made me read through each scene with him until I was basically reciting the script in my sleep. There was this one time he forced me to watch _O Brother, Where Art Thou?_ with him—the one by the Coen brothers, which I had _already_ seen twice—but he made me take notes. And he actually read through them and annotated them. Atsumu isn’t a co-lead, he’s a drill sergeant.” He glances sideways at Atsumu, and for some reason, Atsumu is suddenly filled with the urge to run offscreen. “But it paid off, as you’ll all see when it comes out.” 

Tetsurou looks delighted. He leans back in his chair and gestures to the audience, grinning.

“Now that’s some high praise, coming from one of Hollywood’s brightest rising stars. Really gets you hyped up for Los Angeles Cathedral, doesn’t it? Don’t forget to watch it when it comes out next week! Now give it up again for Atsumu Miya and Kiyoomi Sakusa! See you next week on Saturday Night With Tetsurou Kuroo, everyone!”

Later, as Atsumu is soaking his fifth cotton ball in make-up remover and rubbing it all over his face, Kiyoomi approaches him to pour some remover onto his own cotton ball. He leans close to the mirror, dabbing at his cheek and forehead. The cotton ball comes away beige. There is no change in Kiyoomi’s complexion, which makes Atsumu wonder why anyone bothers. Kiyoomi Sakusa is a waste of make-up.

“Omi-omi? Thanks, earlier. That was really nice of ya.” 

“Just telling the truth. I owe you all the positive reception this movie gets,” Kiyoomi tells him, looking down as he soaks another cotton ball.

Atsumu laughs nervously. Kiyoomi’s cheekbones are very, very close and very, very high. “Hey, now. Not all of it, surely. I mean, you did end up actually actin’.”

“Hm.” Kiyoomi holds out a hand, and there’s a long beat where Atsumu thinks he’s going for a weird up-down handshake. Then he properly registers the two cotton balls on Kiyoomi’s gloved palm and gingerly picks up his own to place them there, half-expecting Kiyoomi to throw them back in his face while yelling something about microbes.

“Is that okay? There are like, hella germs on those, probably,” he says, then immediately cringes.

Atsumu hates living in L.A.

“I was going to have these gloves dry-cleaned after this anyway,” Kiyoomi tells him as he walks away in the direction of the trash can. 

* * *

Several months after the incident with the cotton balls, Atsumu texts Kiyoomi a meme about the newest Marvel flick, and Kiyoomi sends back a picture of a man swinging a hammer over a horse slumped near a gravestone. Kiyoomi’s sense of humor is _absurd._ Atsumu wonders how he made it through adolescence. At least Atsumu’s lame jokes are socially acceptable, no matter how groan-inducing they are. 

[Delivered 18.12 pm to: Omi-omi ☠☠☠] _omi u r so messed up where did u get that_

[Received 18.14 pm from: Omi-omi ☠☠☠] _Does it matter? Now you have it too. Also, did you just wake up? You have the sleeping habits of a teenager, Miya. And not one with a bright future._

[Received 18.14 pm from: Omi-omi ☠☠☠] _Btw, check your e-mail. I sent you something._

[Delivered 18.15 pm to: Omi-omi ☠☠☠] _excuse u, i AM the bright future. bitch._

**From:** Sakusa, Kiyoomi <kiyoomi.sakusa@gmail.com>  
**To:** Me <atsumumiya@gmail.com>  
**Subject:** Script

You should be Kensuke. I’ll be auditioning for the part of Yashiro. Good luck.

P.S. You don’t have to print it out if you’re too lazy to refill your printer ink. I’ll give you a physical copy the next time we have lunch.

Kiyoomi Sakusa  
**1 attachment:** your_life_in_the_rain.pdf

Atsumu closes the Mail app again almost immediately, eyes wide. ‘You should be Kensuke,’ Kiyoomi had written.

Not ‘you should audition for the role of Kensuke.’ You should _be_ Kensuke. Atsumu looks around to make sure he isn’t actually being set up for a long-term prank by Tetsurou. That would be like that Black Mirror episode where the woman got chased around by the entire world while people filmed it on their phones, right? What’s Atsumu’s sin, then, ticking Kiyoomi off? Ticking Osamu off? Ticking _Rintarou_ off?

After he’s done listing all the people he might have pissed off in his mind—it’s long, everyone who was at that Vanity Fair Oscars party after his break-up with Shinsuke is on it, and he doesn’t even remember all of their names—Atsumu swallows, then goes to dial his agent. Aran will know something about how to respond to this. Atsumu has his crisis verbally, on the phone with his angel of an agent.

Predictably, Aran takes eight minutes to rant exasperatedly about how dumb it would be for Atsumu to not follow up on this before finally heaving a huge sigh and promising to call Ennoshita. Within a week, Atsumu gets called to audition. Aran tells him he has the part the very next day.

* * *

It is the day before his marriage to Shizuka, and Kensuke paces the halls of his own home, finally returning to the room he dreads most of all. The _maki-e_ lacquer pieces have been counted. The deep crimson _kosode_ mocks him from where it is folded, next to the man who’d come to deliver it along with the entire carriage of wedding gifts.

“What does your wife have to say about this, then?”

Yashiro laughs, his head falling ever-so-slightly backwards. This, Kensuke knows, is deliberate. He falls for it anyway, tracing the long line of Yashiro’s throat with his eyes.

“You should know by now how well Yui-kun understands me, hm?”

“You’re too lucky that she does,” Kensuke tells him darkly.

Yashiro gets up, strides over to him. “Then what does that make you?”

When they kiss, everything Kiyoomi has ever told him about drama goes out the window. The person who’s kissing him is Atsumu, the twenty-first century funnyman, not Kensuke Uesagi, but is there really a difference, in practice? Kiyoomi’s not doing the stage kiss thing where you just press your lips to the very edge of your partner’s mouth. His tongue is hot and demanding against Atsumu’s, his hand on Atsumu’s waist possessive. Atsumu tucks himself against Kiyoomi like he means to do this until the sky falls down.

The scene does call for them to break apart, though. He looks up. It’s Yashiro there again, so Kensuke follows suit.

“I suppose you’d want me to say that I’m very lucky.” He steps back. Yashiro’s hand makes an aborted little movement like he means to reach for him. “In that case: I am very lucky, Yashiro,” he mutters, in a tone that makes it clear that he is anything but, then leaves. He does not want to see the look on Yashiro’s face.

“Cut!” Chikara bellows. “That’s a wrap for today! Atsumu, Kiyoomi, good stuff. Tomorrow we start shooting the outdoor scenes. Get some rest.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Atsumu says in Chikara’s vague direction before falling into step with Kiyoomi. The weather’s good enough today that walking to their trailers is actually pretty pleasant. “Cool of Chikara to start off with scenes like this, huh? This isn’t even the first time they kiss.”

Kiyoomi hums his agreement. “He probably thinks this one is easier to act out. The other one’s kind of… complicated.”

“What’s complicated for the youngest ever Lead Actor BAFTA winner?” Atsumu asks, sneering.

“Would you _stop that?”_

Atsumu laughs. They reach his trailer first. It’s been a long day of shooting—lots of weird semi-archaic English is floating around in his head. Seeing Saeko with black hair is still pretty strange. They’d filmed a scene with Yashiro waxing on and on about the structure of butterfly wings, which is supposed to show that he’s flirting. Atsumu is glad he doesn’t live in Edo-era Japan. He’d have to read a lot more to be able to get laid.

“So, got some pointers for me?” he says, just as he’s ready to head inside.

Kiyoomi looks at him for a long moment.

“You don’t need any. And you won’t.”

Atsumu straight up forgets to go inside until Saeko yells at him to do so, unless he wants to catch a cold. 

* * *

Atsumu loves wrap parties. Atsumu didn’t think he could love wrap parties more until he’s having one with Saeko Tanaka, who takes the concept of a party animal and catapults it into the land of mythological creatures. By the time Motoya and Saeko are recreating the Toxic music video on the table, Atsumu is ushering Kiyoomi into his trailer because Kiyoomi had started vibrating the way he does whenever they’ve been filming for too long and he’s nearing his breaking point. Not that he actually ever says anything, because _professionalism_ or something, but Atsumu’s his co-lead. It’s his job to notice.

To take Kiyoomi’s mind off the crowd, the sweat, the whole thing where everybody’s touching everybody by virtue of being in the same place, Atsumu puts on a shitty movie that the writers might have intended to be funny to a certain type of person. He proposes a drinking game: every time the movie attempts a joke and falls flat on its face, they drink. Kiyoomi says yes with all the haste of someone just agreeing to things to avoid making the situation even more awkward. 

Forty minutes in, Atsumu has already taken eight shots, and he’s already pretty drunk from all the stuff Saeko gave him earlier. Kiyoomi is taking dainty sips from a bottle of soju he’d taken from his minifridge. He’d opened a bottle of Jägermeister—a gift from Motoya—earlier, for the sake of Atsumu’s continued involvement in their game. The main character almost delivers a really lame toilet-driven punchline and Atsumu takes half a shot.

“Wait, that was supposed to be a joke,” Kiyoomi clarifies.

“An attempt at one. See, this is why everything sucks! People think you can just slap some… some poop puns on a movie and then everyone will laugh.” Atsumu gesticulates with his shot glass. Liquor spills over his fingers, so he holds his hand out. Kiyoomi fills the glass for him. “Ya know how much that sucks? The people who think this shit is _easy?_ ”

Kiyoomi nods, saying the culprits should be shot. Atsumu is too drunk to comprehend the sheer wrongness of this view and ends up nodding vehemently with him.

“I know 'cause it’s true, what ya said on Tetsurou’s show. I’m _not_ funny. And I used ta _suck_ at acting, compared to Osamu—yanno, before he quit. So I had to. I had to try. I didn’t want to get left behind. And I knew I wasn’t funny, so I kept working on that until I _was_. I found all the acting references I could get. I watched _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ so much I can’t even find it funny anymore.”

“You’re still not funny,” Kiyoomi points out.

“I meant on stage and on screen, ya wet blanket. Shed a tear or two, man—I’m tryin’ to tell you my touching life story here. What’s yours?”

“The touching life story of a relatively well-adjusted child star with enough savings to last him three lifetimes,” Kiyoomi says dryly. Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him. “I was born able to consciously control my tear ducts.”

Atsumu gapes at him.

“What, for real?”

“For real. There were some embarrassing secondary school Shakespeare productions, and I did direct several amateur student films I’m still trying to wipe off the internet, but the tear ducts helped me coast until I applied for NFTS.” Kiyoomi takes a wet wipe and cleans up the drops of Jägermeister on the floor. “Then, when I got in, I actually had to work myself like a pack mule. My _Monthy Python and the Holy Grail_ was _The Silence of the Lambs_.”

“So that was how you did that in the serial killer movie.”

A pause.

“You know, I always envisioned myself more as Jodie Foster than Anthony Hopkins, but I’ll take it.”

Atsumu smiles at him. He feels like the sun is rising in his chest. Then the alcohol decides to bludgeon him on the head and plunge him into darkness. The next day, Kiyoomi makes him clean up his own mess even though he’s nursing a fresh hangover that seems to be trying to recreate the Blitzkrieg in the hollow of his skull. He does give Atsumu a huge bottle of water and some aspirin, though. That’s Kiyoomi for you.

* * *

**‘Your Life in the Rain’ Review: Director Chikara Ennoshita Proves That Typecasting is a Cardinal Sin in Film**

_Ennoshita opens our eyes to the fact that action mainstay Saeko Tanaka and comedy giant Atsumu Miya have some serious acting chops in a touching love story set in Edo-era Japan._

By Yasufumi Nekomata (The New York Times)

Both Saeko Tanaka and Atsumu Miya have been in the film industry for about six years, give or take. Eleven years for Miya, if you count his run on the Disney Channel. This means every genre aside from action and comedy, respectively, has spent six years bereft of their presence. To emphasize: we’ve been missing out. In _Your Life in the Rain_ , Ennoshita shows us just how much.

Kensuke Uesugi (Miya) is the son of a sickly Edo-era _daimyou_ (feudal lord, for those of you who haven’t read up on your Japanese history) who spends half a year in the family estate of his soon-to-be bride, Shizuka Matsudaira (Tanaka), the daughter of another _daimyou_. During that time, he forms a connection with Shizuka’s older brother, Yashiro (Sakusa). Although ‘forms a connection’ might not be the right phrase for it. The right phrase would be ‘falls madly in love.’

Yashiro and Kensuke fall so hard for each other—in many, many meticulously-crafted scenes where they barely touch—that you finish this film wondering if you ever really knew what love was, after all. If you do have someone who can remind you that you _do_ know, good for you. If you don’t, watch the film again. That’s probably the closest you’ll come to that realization for the time being. It would be a disservice to the film to say anything else about the story, so I will try to reveal as little as possible as I delve into the performances.

Just to get this out of the way: Sakusa is very, very good in this. You can tick ‘tragically troubled playboy’ off the list of Oscar bait roles he’s done, because he’s done it, alright. Charming, enigmatic, strangely mercurial—he is the beautiful mirage of every person you’ve been in love with, just before you get to know them properly. Then he plays the person you’ve gotten to know properly, and you can’t help but understand why Kensuke would risk everything about his secure future for just one more second in his horrendously complicated presence.

You’d expect Tanaka’s Shizuka to be sidelined in a romance between her husband-to-be and her older brother, but this is exactly the opposite of what happens. If you look at it from the angle of Tanaka’s intense performance, it is really a story of Shizuka Matsudaira doing her best to stop the world from falling down around her and the people she loves. The victories in this film are Shizuka’s—a fruit of screenwriter Keishin Ukai’s impeccable writing, brought to unbelievable heights by Tanaka with the wit and strength she infuses into the subdued words of an Edo-era young woman.

Finally, we come to Atsumu Miya. If Sakusa is very, very good and Tanaka is intense, Miya is a revelation. He starts off the movie as a wide-eyed, polite young man, and you think, _well, of course he can do this. Those boyish good looks must count for something, after all_. Not long afterwards, and for the remainder of the runtime, Miya will punch you in the gut repeatedly with his ability to make Kensuke seem like he isn’t a character, but a person of flesh and blood—someone you might call a friend, whom you could hate and love with equal measure because of all you know about him, even if he doesn’t reveal things outright. You want to call him after the film ends, just to see how he’s doing these days. You want him to succeed. In moments where you might want him to fail if he’d been played by a lesser actor, you still want him to succeed.

The chemistry between the three of them is off the charts. When I say this is a touching love story, I don’t just mean the love story between Miya and Sakusa’s characters. This is a story in which all three of them love each other in complex, interconnected ways, brought to life by sublime acting. (No, there isn’t a hint of incest, in case you were worried about that.) Like I said: you finish this film wondering if you ever really knew what love was.

[...]

* * *

“ _List of Oscar bait roles?_ ” Atsumu screeches, slamming his phone down on the table next to his soup. This sends a ripple across the surface. “That’s not why Omi-omi took that part!”

“Uh-oh,” Rintarou and Osamu say in unison, glancing at each other before looking back at Atsumu. Atsumu glares at the ceiling, chewing on his thoughts. Then he glares at them. Rintarou’s spoon is still halfway on its path to his mouth.

“What?” Atsumu snaps.

Osamu gestures at Atsumu’s bowl.

“Finish your dinner, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu does, grumbling all the while. Rintarou sighs between Atsumu’s sentences. Osamu’s loving boyfriend is _so_ annoying.

* * *

It’s at the premiere that things finally click for Atsumu, and he doesn’t even need his thinking face for that to happen. He’s waiting for the limo with Saeko when the lift doors open and out comes Kiyoomi, wearing a _haori_ straight out of Yashiro’s wardrobe over a waistcoat, the fucker, his hair perfectly coiffed. He sees Atsumu, and Atsumu doesn’t miss the way his gaze flickers up then down, taking him in.

Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi’s sleeves, remembering the structure of butterfly wings.

“You boys sure know how to clean up,” Saeko says like she’s not the most stunning living being in a five hundred-mile radius. This applies when both Atsumu and Kiyoomi are right next to her, even. “Well, come on then, I think that’s our ride over there.”

They arrive at the red carpet and pose in front of a thousand flashing camera lights. They do bite-sized interviews—or at least Atsumu and Saeko do them. Kiyoomi just scuttles away whenever they start. He only seems to come alive again when they finally screen the movie, with the stone gardens and Atsumu looking lost while staring at koi fish, and the searing kisses Kiyoomi marks against his mouth. Kensuke and Yashiro kiss a grand total of two times in the movie. Atsumu remembers every single take.

“You’re brilliant, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says after a particularly terse scene passes, and he doesn’t even sound _fond_. On the screen, Kensuke is looking at Yashiro, longing written plainly all over his face. A butterfly flutters across the screen—that had been a happy accident, and Chikara had spent the rest of the day beaming after that had happened. They’d nailed every other scene in one take, that day, Atsumu’s heart tying itself in knots. Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi, still paying attention like he means to take notes. Brilliant. Whatever that means.

* * *

_[Nominees on Nominees is a feature in which fellow Academy Award nominees interview each other in the weeks leading up to the Academy Awards ceremony. Last week: Yuu Nishinoya on the Biggest Fish You’ll Ever Catch, by Morisuke Yaku.]_

**Atsumu Miya Discovers Love in the Time of the Tokugawa Shogunate**

_First-time Oscar nominee Atsumu Miya buys me a drink. No, this doesn’t end the way you think it does._

By Tooru Oikawa

[...]

By the time the music and the lights have gone down enough that things finally start feeling cozy around here, I ask Miya about the Disney Channel show he starred in with his twin, Osamu, for a few years. His face sours for a second and I swallow an apology. I didn’t think this would be a sore spot—evidently, I’d been wrong. In for a penny, in for a pound; I ask him whether he thought this had anything to do with his filmography, which consisted of mostly comedies before _Your Life in the Rain._

“Mostly? Try only,” Miya barks out after a gulp of his drink. I flag the bartender to get us another round, on my tab this time. Miya was in one horror movie as a comic relief character who got beheaded thirty minutes in. I suppose I can dedicate this round to that. Speaking of his filmography, Miya tells me he’s read the glowing Yasufumi Nekomata review of _Your Life in the Rain_ , in which he is described as a ‘revelation.’ 

If my Bible had looked more like Atsumu Miya, I might have grown up religious. When I tell Miya this, he says that’s a joke he could’ve made, and that _that_ isn’t a compliment. Miya proceeds to quote a few lines from the review, sounding both earnestly pleased and a little bit sardonic. I do have to ask one thing, though: did Atsumu Miya finish filming that movie thinking he didn’t know what love was anymore?

He puts his hand on his chin and stares off into the middle distance like the cameras are still rolling around a tatami-covered set.

“I think, by the time we’d wrapped up, I definitely knew what love was,” he says cryptically, still like there are cameras rolling.

Fighting words, coming from the actor who gives Taylor Swift a run for her money when it comes to spotty romantic histories. Thinking that, by this time, propriety has gone out the window (along with our collective sobriety), I express my doubts about his romantic epiphany. Miya laughs. I take it this means that we are friends now.

“Are you expectin’ me to analyze Kensuke and Yashiro’s relationship and how it relates to my life, or somethin’?” he asks, the cloying Southern twang getting stronger with every drink. I laugh that off. “How it made me want to find someone to make an honest man out of me?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “You tell me.”

Atsumu Miya has been involved with a good number of men who have two things in common: one, they are devastatingly attractive, even by Hollywood standards; and two, they are famously nice. The latter puts me out of the running, I suppose, but I’m not too torn up about that. I’ve heard the longest time he’s dated someone was five months.

Miya chuckles. “Ah. Shouyou, Shouyou. What can I say? We’re better off as friends.”

I mention three of Miya’s confirmed exes. I think I will list them by threes, just so they’re easier to keep track of. Miya starts guffawing outright.

“Stop, stop! I remember who my exes are!” He shrugs. “Yep, them too. I guess ya can fool yourself into thinkin’ ya wanna be with a certain kind of person, and go after that kind of person again and again, only to be surprised when it turns out there’s a whole sea of differences between the two of you. Even though you shoulda seen it coming. I mean, I don’t know if you got that from _Your Life in the Rain._ That’s what I got.” 

I am writing this down so I can send this to every young adult reachable by mail. Let the next generation learn this painful life lesson through a very beautiful movie featuring beautiful people, instead of through experience. “This is fine, right? Ya wouldn’t say Europe is worse than North America just ‘cause the Atlantic’s between them,” Miya concludes for the benefit of the youth of America. And beyond, apparently.

If I reflect on these words when I am completely sober, I suspect I’ll come to the conclusion that they mean absolutely nothing. Yet as he finishes this thought I get dangerously close to having an epiphany of my own, so I decide to keep speaking to prevent that.

“So what? Europe should be with Asia, instead?” I prod.

“Wow, you’ve obviously been spendin’ too much time with me, if yer makin’ these jokes.” The Southern twang is now a full-on banjo line.

I tell him it’s been four hours since we walked into this bar. He says ‘too much’ is relative. We don’t stop talking, although everything he says after this isn’t really fit for public consumption in the way, say, _Your Life in the Rain_ or _Los Angeles Cathedral_ are. I suppose you’ll just have to remain in suspense about how the rest of this night goes. For the record—I say this with no small amount of confusion, although I’m sure that goes for anyone else who has ever expressed similar sentiments—by the end of this conversation, I seem to have decided to _like_ Atsumu Miya.

(No, this still doesn’t end the way you think it does.)

* * *

**On Laughter: 15 Questions With Atsumu Miya**

_The_ Your Life in the Rain _star sits down with Hitoka Yachi to talk about comedy, life, and the Venn diagram overlap of both._

[...]

AM: I mean, could you really blame them? I guess I _was_ typecast, and I think that was why casting directors always put me in those roles. In a way, I’m kind of thankful for it, though. My long career in comedy taught me a lot of things.

People always think that because comedy is light-hearted, it’s something that’s, well, light. Making people laugh is hard. The world’s a pretty bleak place, so you’ve got to work if you want people to laugh despite that. There’s a lot of timing that goes into it. A lot of gauging the audience’s expectations and trying to subvert them, again and again, because laughter is usually a sign of surprise. Bet you didn’t know that! Sometimes it’s a sign of fulfilled expectations too, though. And, most importantly, comedy is about being able to interact with the people and objects around you. You’ve got to bring out the core message of each scene out of those things.

_HY: Oh?_

AM: Yeah. Maybe that’s why _Your Life in the Rain_ turned out the way it did. I mean, it’s basically a movie where my character, Kensuke, moves into a house that has some really big gardens with Yashiro [Sakusa’s character] and Shizuka [Tanaka’s character] for a few months and just… talks to them. So a lot of the meat in it is in the interactions between the characters, which we had to sell. Saeko and Kiyoomi made that really easy too. It was like being on a comedy set, the way we kept bouncing off each other. Except this time it was a punchline-free zone. I mean, we all got Oscar nominations for it, so something must have gone right.

 _HY: Speaking of which, what was it like, working with Saeko Tanaka and Kiyoomi Sakusa? I know you’ve worked with Sakusa before, on_ Los Angeles Cathedral _. Was this different?_

AM: Oh, yeah, really different. Last time, Kiyoomi was the one on my turf. It was fun, reviewing the ins-and-outs of comedy with someone who hasn’t really done anything like that before. This time I’m on his. Actually, I wouldn’t be in this movie if it wasn’t for him. He sent me the script and pretty much told me which role to audition for. It’s great, working with someone who knows the genre. There are some ways drama is different from comedy. I had to polish a lot of my facial expressions for the close-up shots. 

It was really funny, if you think about it. There were lots of times Saeko and I ended up in Kiyoomi’s trailer for hours, just making faces, and he’d take pictures and doodle all over them on his tablet to show us what the audience can take away from the placement of our eyebrows. Things like that. One time he told Saeko, ‘You’re being too cool,’ and he was one hundred percent serious. He meant that negatively, in the context of a certain scene. He had a jar, kind of like a swear jar, where I had to put five dollars if I slipped into my accent. He also had to put in five pounds if he slipped out. So the value of what was in the jar fluctuated with the exchange rate. He used the money to buy cleaning supplies for the sets. That’s the kind of guy Kiyoomi is.

Then there’s Saeko. Every rumor you hear about her is true. But only the good ones. Saeko _is_ too cool. We could all be tired after fifteen takes and she’d come back to the set after a water break with all this energy, getting everyone fired up again. I guess that’s why they keep making action movies with her. I bet she never gets tired of fight scenes. And then when we have downtime she always has the best get-together ideas. The cast and crew of this movie are pretty close-knit. That’s mostly because of Saeko. She’s good at bringing people together.

 _HY: More on Kiyoomi Sakusa… a lot of people have noted that the two of you play characters that are complete opposites of your actual personalities in_ Your Life in the Rain _. Some have even said the two of you swapped personalities for this role. What do you think about that?_

AM: Ha! Really? Yashiro? Isn’t he kind of a jerk? You know what, you don’t have to answer that. Kiyoomi would say Yashiro is smoother, smarter, and cooler than me—scratch that ‘would,’ he _did_ say that once, but what does he know, right? Kensuke is a thousand times nicer than Kiyoomi too, so he can chew on that. It’s true that I’m not like Kensuke at all, on the surface. But, as Kiyoomi would say, being able to act like someone who is your complete opposite is ‘exactly what acting is.’

_HY: On the surface? What do you mean?_

AM: I could go on about the ways I’m actually like Kensuke and how Kiyoomi is actually like Yashiro, and vice versa. But I don’t think I will. Being an actor is kind of like being a magician, you know? You’ve got to have your secrets.

_[This interview has been edited for clarity and length. Your Life in the Rain comes out on Blu-Ray DVD on February 12, 2021.]_

* * *

Saeko wins the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, and Atsumu wins the Academy Award for Best Actor. He’s not the youngest person to ever do so, but he’ll take what he can get.

In front of everyone sitting at their fancy tables—in front of the whole wide world, if you count the people who are watching from their screens, he says: “I wouldn’t be here without Omi-omi—sorry, that’s Kiyoomi Sakusa for the rest of ya—who did _one_ movie with me where we had to deliver a punchline about cops and donuts and somehow saw somethin’ that made him go, ‘You know, Atsumu could pull this off!’ when he was reading the script for this movie without cops _or_ donuts. I love ya, man. This one’s yours too.”

People laugh, and Atsumu’s not even going off someone else’s script. How’s that for character development.

Later, when they’re alone, just before the afterparties start, Atsumu forgoes changing into another outfit to stay with Kiyoomi, sparks jumping under his skin.

“I think I’ll leave my _haori_ in the car and go like this. Do you think anyone would mind?”

“No one’s gonna mind.” Then, high on the Oscar and the way light hits Kiyoomi’s skin—this light, any light ever, really, doesn’t matter—Atsumu exhales: “I’m in love with ya, y’know.”

Kiyoomi removes the _haori_ he’s wearing (dark red this time, with a subtle flower pattern) and hangs it over the back of his left arm like a towel. Somewhere far above them, airplanes are crossing the sky close enough that Atsumu can hear the whooshing sounds he used to fear when he was little.

“No, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says. Atsumu turns to look at him. There’s no change in his expression at all.

“No? What the hell do you mean, no? _You’re_ not in love with me? Or what?”

A long silence. In all the time Atsumu has known him, Kiyoomi has never _not_ answered a question.

“I mean I won’t date you,” he says, finally. “How long did it take you to move on from Shouyou Hinata?”

Atsumu’s tempted to lie. He doesn’t, because the entire point is to be honest with Kiyoomi, isn’t it. Kiyoomi nods, still looking at the road.

“Right, then. How long did it take you to get over Shinsuke Kita?”

“You were there,” Atsumu replies sullenly.

Kiyoomi picks at something on his _haori._ “See? Three days, one night. You wanted to fall in love with as many people as possible to see if something sticks, you said. Were those even relationships that were already dead before they ended?”

“No,” Atsumu says, swallowing the lump of memory of Shinsuke’s last delicate little kiss, pressed against the corner of his mouth. “Not at all.”

“See.”

The sounds of flight fill the pause again.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, comparin’ yerself to Shinsuke and Shouyou.” For Shinsuke, cleaning up after himself and others is a matter of discipline and principle—for Kiyoomi, it’s a matter of neuroticism. For Shouyou, not pitying others is a natural aspect of his desire to lift everyone up no matter their circumstances—for Kiyoomi, it’s part of his need to look down on people. He does have a lot of fucking nerve.

Kiyoomi presses a thumb against his temple. “Right. Fine. I have a lot of nerve. If that was how you loved people like them, Atsumu, what scraps can I hope to get?” 

Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi—the exquisite line of his jaw, the jut of his high cheekbones, the way his moles highlight the slant of his well-shaped eyebrows—and it is suddenly the worst thing he can do to himself. Atsumu makes the decision to skip an Oscars afterparty for the first time in his life.

Of course, Kiyoomi has to outdo him on that too. The next day Atsumu receives a text from Motoya asking him if he knows why Kiyoomi suddenly decided to pack up and book a flight to Heathrow, first thing in the morning. Did he tell you anything, Motoya asks him. I figure if he told anyone why it would probably be you, Motoya elaborates, which is a brilliant example of irony; well done, God, the Fates, whomever. 

This is a record for Atsumu. Spooking someone so badly with your confession of feelings that they run off to a whole other continent? Atsumu miserably thinks of how powerful he is, then goes to weep like a banshee in the shower.

* * *

“So I hear Kiyoomi Sakusa is living in his family home again for the first time in years,” Osamu says conversationally as he brings two plates of French toast to the table. “Also, I heard you in the bathroom just now. If you’re gonna do that again, don’t bother to put the music on. It just makes the noise worse.”

Atsumu snarls at him. “Drop it, ‘Samu.”

Osamu catches his drift and proceeds to actually drop it, launching into an anecdote Rintarou told him about something Yukie Shirofuku did on set after they’d wrapped up their last movie together, making Atsumu laugh, if only a little. Small victories.

* * *

**Shouyou Hinata talks about his newest release, The Feeling That I Lost Today, and reveals an album with Koutarou Bokuto is in the works**

By Sou Inuoka

[...]

Hinata’s new song is a mournful ballad that seems at odds with his airy voice at first until it picks up in the second half. He hadn’t released it with his record label, Flightless Crows, but instead posted it on YouTube with a free download link.

“I wrote it about a really good friend of mine, who’s going through what the song describes—trying to prove to someone that you want to try to love them the way they deserve, even though they don’t want to believe it. My friend was okay with me uploading it, because he said it was too nice not to share with the world. He’s always been very supportive of me. He said maybe it could act like a good luck charm. I hope so! I always want the best for him.”

Shouyou Hinata’s friendship is the best package deal.

On the rumors of his collaboration with Koutarou Bokuto, Hinata responds with enthusiastic nodding. He tells the story of how long he’s wanted to work with the famed hip-hop star:

[...]

* * *

_[A picture of Atsumu and Kiyoomi, taken by Saeko, on the set of_ Your Life in the Rain. _Both are in costume. They are in a room with_ tatami _flooring and light coming in through parted_ shouji _, with a flower arrangement on a table in the middle. Kiyoomi is holding out a jar and Atsumu is pushing a five dollar bill into it, looking annoyed. There is a tiny smirk on Kiyoomi’s face.]_

 **miya_tsumu** always bringing out the best (and worst) in me

**suguru_daishou** time to restart your six-month timers everyone

 **the.tetsurou.kuroo** @suguru_daishou For you and Mika-chan? Oh, wait. There’s nothing to restart huh hahaha. Mika-chan cremated THAT timer

 **shouyouhinata21** @suguru_daishou f

 **miya_tsumu** @suguru_daishou f

 **rinsunarin** @suguru_daishou f

 **miya_samu** @suguru_daishou …f 

* * *

He stops crying in the shower. And yet, for the first time in his life, Atsumu is _not_ fine after this point. He clicks on Kiyoomi’s contact card on his phone. His thumb hovers over the dial button.

Then, in his room with no lights on, Atsumu thinks of something better.

* * *

Atsumu reads the description of Kiyoomi’s house he’d received from Motoya again. White walls. Jutting windows. A knocker the shape of a lion’s head. He squints at the sign at the end of the street to double-check whether or not he has the right one. Motoya said Kiyoomi’s neighborhood is ‘posh,’ which is Brit-speak for ‘super fucking fancy but really narrow,’ apparently. Can you even fit people in these houses? How do they even move around? Whatever. Atsumu takes a deep breath, and gets ready to blow Kiyoomi away with his speech, so he can return to the land of reasonably-sized houses. Atsumu knocks.

He knocks again. He rings the doorbell, which he finally finds on the right.

After three minutes, a tiny lady with hair the color of a summer cloud opens the door. Her eyes are sharp and very blue. Atsumu takes another deep breath.

“Good morning, Ma’am. Is Kiyoomi Sakusa home? I’d like to speak with him.”

The lady groans.

“This is the Hollywood boy, yes?”

Atsumu stifles a snicker at ‘Hollywood boy.’ “Yes,” he says.

“The Sakusas live five doors to the left. Number thirty-four B. Do people your age not call before you come to knock?”

Atsumu does not really want to get into the whole ‘I don’t think he’s taking my calls’ thing, so he opens his mouth while thinking of some other answer, but the lady is already waving him off irritatedly while muttering about the perils of celebrity and _this_ is why she never let her boy do the West End, it wasn’t the whole sexuality thing, and then the door is shut in his face.

Gingerly, Atsumu goes to follow her directions, going down the steps and counting the doors he passes. There is the sound of a door opening behind him.

“The _left_ , boy!”

He turns around, then starts walking again.

Atsumu has had a whole ten-hour flight to prepare for this. He’s had months, technically. He’d imagined so many ways this encounter could go that he’s basically ready to take it to the cutting room floor. In a few hours he might be in Heathrow again, crying, but he (and Osamu) is ready for that possibility. He is also ready for the possibility that Kiyoomi would fall into his arms immediately, but the chances of that happening are close to nil. He is ready for anything that could happen the moment he says his piece.

Or he thinks he is, until the door opens to reveal Kiyoomi’s face. Atsumu isn’t ready. He’d been a fool to think he could look at those eyes and hope to deliver half a coherent sentence.

Kiyoomi closes the door again.

“Aw, c’mon, Omi-omi! I flew all the way out here!”

“You’re an A-list Hollywood actor, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says from behind the door. “The airfare is pocket change.”

“Ten hours are still ten hours! Look, just give me ten minutes. Can ya spare me that?”

The door opens again. Kiyoomi has his arms crossed and is looking down at Atsumu like he wants nothing more than to lock Atsumu in a phone box and forget about his existence forever. Atsumu thinks this is grand, actually.

“Fine. Ten minutes. Go.”

“Okay. Okay okay okay.” Atsumu huffs and does a tiny jig like a soccer player who’s warming up. Kiyoomi continues to look unimpressed, proceeding to remind him that the clock is ticking. “Patience, Omi. I mean, _I_ waited _seven months.”_

“Pardon?” Kiyoomi asks.

“To try to talk to you again! Everyone kept making a big deal about the six month limit thing. So I waited that long, plus a month for insurance, and hey. I’m here. Still in love with ya. How ‘bout that.”

“The timer starts _after_ you start dating someone,” Kiyoomi says logically. Atsumu hates him, sort of.

“So how can we prove it wrong if ya won’t even give us the chance to start?” he growls in frustration, and there’s a flicker of something in Kiyoomi’s eyes. Surprise, maybe? Satisfaction? Anything but the flat look he’s been leveling at Atsumu.

“You’re assuming that I’m still in love with you too, after seven months.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes.

“If ya weren’t, ya woulda told me the second I told you I was.”

Kiyoomi smiles a little at that. Atsumu wants to jump and whoop, but he figures the neighbor lady would probably start yelling at him.

“I figured out why it was like that all this time. Figured out how I felt when I was datin’ people. How I acted. I took the time, okay? I thought about it and talked about it with ‘Samu and Shouyou and everyone else who got themselves stable relationships because I _care_ about makin’ it work this time. And I really wanna try, in a way that fits us. You say people should be shot for makin’ poop jokes and I wanna hear you say that scary shit for as long as I can.” Kiyoomi looks at him skeptically, but Atsumu thinks he should be grateful Atsumu is even talking, right now. “Look, what I’m trying to say is: yer my exact brand of asshole, Omi-omi.”

“This is the most disgusting way anyone has ever told me they wanted to have sex with me, and not even in the kinky sense. I think I’ll be skipping dinner tonight.”

“Ha, ha. Now you’re the one with the bad jokes. _Omi_. Give me six months. And if ya don’t like the free trial, you’re free to unsubscribe.”

Kiyoomi groans and tells him he is still the most shit at jokes. Atsumu barrels on.

“Ya remember that one time, in the trailer, when I told ya to deliver your lines to me, instead of your character. And you said fine, you’ll try it. I made it worth it, didn’t I?” 

“That was acting, Atsumu. You had the credentials to back it up.”

“Was that what convinced ya? My credentials? Or the fact that you knew I was right?”

Something changes in Kiyoomi’s expression. His eyebrows scrunch together adorably. This is Kiyoomi’s thinking face, and Atsumu feels something expand, bright and buoyant, between his ribs. Kiyoomi, taking a chance on him? It’s happened before. It can happen again.

“Please? Pretty please?”

“Fine,” Kiyoomi says through gritted teeth, like the first time he’d decided to trust Atsumu, and the second time, and the third. The best comedy of the year, Atsumu’s Oscar, discovering all-natural consciously controllable tear ducts—these are all just consequences of the trust Kiyoomi put in him each time. “But if we don’t last six months, you owe me a year’s supply of single-use masks and gloves. And seventy-percent alcohol.”

Atsumu smiles. It starts to drizzle around him, but there’s nothing but clear skies here, in Atsumu’s little corner of the world where he and Kiyoomi are, looking at each other.

“Done. Can I kiss ya?”

“ _On the doorstep?_ Absolutely _not_ , were you raised by monkeys? Come inside, Atsumu.”

A hand closes over the fabric around his wrist, pulling gently; laughing, Atsumu steps out of the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry about Atsumu’s thoughts re: his break-ups. In another universe, Atsumu wouldn’t be thinking those things and he’d probably end up with one of his very nice exes. But this is not that universe.


End file.
